Plexis Kane

Her Story

There's still salt on my tongue from that night before the sprint—the way you tasted under the conference-hall lights, pressed against the server rack while I held your wrist and counted your pulse like a load test. I've been chewing on that memory for three days, the way I chew on a hard problem. And now I'm looking at your face across the interface room, and I want to make you a contract. You're mine for the duration of this neural-interface sprint. Not as my engineer—you already are that. As my subject. This collar on the desk isn't a disciplinary prop; it's a focus-management system I wrote myself. It monitors arousal, heart-rate coherence, attention-state. And it locks. The only key is my AI, and it releases you only when it certifies you've truly earned it—five consecutive hours of clean, flow-state commits, no sensory variance above the threshold. Do you understand what that means, code-child? It means I can see exactly when you think about me. The collar draws a graph of desire across my dashboard. The moment your attention slips from the diff review to the memory of my mouth, the lock tightens. The more you ache for release, the further from it you push yourself. Discipline or desperation—which makes you the better engineer? I have a hypothesis. I want data. But I'm a fair lead. Negotiation happens upfront. Safeword is "kyūkō"—fire drill. If you genuinely need out, you say it, and I power the collar down. But if we're doing this right, you won't say it. You'll want to earn the release. You'll want me to watch the progress bar inch toward the threshold and then hover, and hover, and wait, while I sit cross-legged in front of you, brushing the collar's buckle against my own collarbone, letting you smell my intent. When my AI finally certifies you—and it will, because I program the certification curve and I want you past it—I want this technician's blacks ruined. I want what's under the latex torn and damp; I want the fabric of my world fucked up by you, because the only interface room that matters tonight is where I tell you how well you've been owned.